032 no instagrameable
031 unexpected percussion
030 algorithmic accompaniment
029 vibra delta
028 high-performance computing
027 between utility and contradiction
026 outside recordings vol.5 _ sipoonkorpi 
025 additional thoughts on
024 signal extraction
023 avoinna joka päivä
022 fricciópressió
021 imagining new forms
020 akousma pt.II
019 an approach to resilience
018 one step back, everyone!
017 container
016 ōki-sa
015 experiri ensemble
014 outside recordings vol.4 _ japan
013 shinjuku electrical walk
012 three movements for cellphone
011 distorted tunes test
010 estudi modular
009 outside recordings vol.3 _ costa rica
008  1.1 plants are deceptive
007 akousma
006 soroll
005 las hojas 
004 outside recordings vol.2 _ bolivia
003 institute for new feeling 
002 outside recordings vol.1 _ iceland
001 (sub)urban plants



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cristian subirà hybrid sound documentalista


032
field recording _ 82 min _ 2026


on april 21, 2026, we attended the mandō-e (萬燈会) ceremony in kōyasan, an annual offering held at okuno-in, beside the mausoleum of kōbō daishi. the tradition is associated with an offering of lamps and flowers that kūkai—also known as kōbō daishi and the founder of the shingon school—is said to have made in 832. the ceremony expresses gratitude for the so-called “four debts”: to one’s parents, living beings, the three jewels of buddhism, and rulers. it also includes prayers for peace and for the dead. the rite takes place at the lantern hall (tōrōdō) and includes a ceremonial procession carrying lamps to the hall.

the night before, as we tried to find out how long the ceremony would last, we were surprised that we could not get a clear answer. we knew it began at nine in the morning, but not when it would end. that indeterminate duration took on particular significance in the context of a tourist trip, where time is often treated as a scarce resource and visits can easily become a succession of places to get through. against that logic of optimization, staying without knowing when the rite would end offered us a chance to reconsider what it means to be present.


I decided to record the ceremony in its entirety. I wanted to preserve its duration, but also to test our willingness—and that of anyone who might later listen to the recording—to remain with an experience that did not fit the usual rhythm of digital consumption, shaped by brevity and fragmented attention. 

I chose my phone because it seemed the least intrusive device. since this was a religious ceremony, we tried to remain quiet, dress appropriately, and follow the temple’s instructions. even so, a devotee asked me to remove the hood of my coat. it was raining, but on that sacred precinct our heads had to be uncovered. inside the building, we stood to one side, near the area where ritual offerings were available to worshippers, leaving the central space open to those attending for reasons different from our own.

the rite unfolded in deep silence, broken only by the movements and chants of those taking part. its restraint and unhurried pace drew us into an unusual kind of contemplation. at times, that concentration was disrupted when other visitors came in, took a few photographs, and left, as if the ceremony were just another stop on an itinerary.

I am not looking at this from the outside; presence is never neutral. we, too, were fascinated visitors, and I was recording: my attempt to question the tourist gaze was itself part of it. in this sense, lévinas’s observation resonates: “we have ceased to be astonished by all the implications of proximity and approach.” being close to the rite and to those taking part was not simply an opportunity to look; it also called for attention to our own presence and its limits.

how can we approach a place without reducing it to an experience we can capture, categorize, and take away?